Page 150 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Nelly was eating breakfast; her newly socked feet pulled up onto the chair as she sat crisscross.
Cooper offered her another blueberry muffin. Homemade with sourdough discard. He’d piled on the crumble toppingtoday. Fresh blueberry juice bled from a few of them, scars of purple down the baked goods.
“I shouldn't," she said, even as her eyes tracked the plate Cooper held. She popped the last bite of her current muffin into her mouth, chewing methodically, obviously trying to savor it.
"Why not?" Cooper asked, already sliding another onto her plate. "There's plenty."
Her cheeks flushed, and she swallowed before answering. "I really can’t. I’m not used to eating so much. I have to be careful.”
“Why?” Boone asked, genuinely confused. “Eat if you’re hungry, Nelly. That’s what you do. You give your body what it needs.”
She frowned down at the second muffin no on her plate. “Imperial had strict weight requirements. They even weighed us all monthly. No one wants an overweight dance partner. It’s hell on the back." she said the last two lines like a mantra she’d heard repeated far too many times.
"You're not dancing now, though," Wade had pointed out gently.
"No," she'd agreed, sounding crestfallen and staring down at her plate. "But habits are hard to break. Even stripping at the club, I tried to keep up standards. I can’t even count how many eggs I’ve cracked inside bell pepper rings. Millions, I bet.” She gave a crooked smile, pushing the muffin with her index finger, making it topple over.
Wyatt studied our Omega. He had that thoughtful look he used to get as a kid, when he was trying to figure out why an animal didn’t trust him yet. "How long have you been eating that way?"
Nelly sat back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling as if she’d been depriving herself for so long that the ‘when’ wasn’tclear anymore. "Feels like forever. Maybe nine or ten? Near the end of my level three training.”
"Jesus," Cooper muttered. "That's child abuse. Kids need to eat enough to grow."
"It's ballet," she corrected, as if that explained everything. Maybe to her, it did. “People like to give dancers crap about how it’s not athletic the way hockey or football is, but we push our bodies to the limits. We eat, sleep, and breathe dance.”
“It’s not natural,” Boone leaned against the table, hands knitting together. “You got to nourish yourself. Not just with food, but with spiritual breaks.”
“Hell, maybe that’s why the universe decided to take it all away from me. I didn’t vacation enough,” she sounded bitter now, closing her eyes and crossing her arms as she continued to lean back in the chair, faced tilted towards the ceiling.
"Did that kind of pressure and lifestyle affect your heats?" I'd asked before I could stop myself. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I wouldn’t want her any less if she couldn’t have pups for some reason. But there was this little see inside of me already envisioning a little girl or boy that had her ginger hair or her gold-flecked hazel eyes. It would be a singular sort of hurt if we couldn’t give the world more Nelly.
Everyone, including Nelly, shifted to stare at me. I only had eyes for my Omega, regret coursing through me at the way she was biting her lower lip, her gorgeous eyes full of hurt.
"I didn't mean it like that," I said quickly, throat feeling like it might swell. I’d deserve suffocating for being such an ass.
Nelly's shoulders tensed, but she kept her eyes locked with mine. "In my dancing prime, sometimes one wouldn’t hit for months. It got worse after the accident. My entire life became an endless string of surgeries, physical therapy, and fighting depression." She unfolded her arms slowly, her scent spicy enough to water my eyes.
The kitchen fell silent, the only sound Cooper's wooden spoon stirring something on the stove. I wanted to kick myself for bringing it up. I had no idea what the fuck he was making now. The guy was probably just stirring an empty pot to stay the hell out of the mess I’d made with one insensitive question.
"My heats are still irregular," she added, her voice softer now, “but nothing like they used to be.” She picked up the second muffin, peeling back the wrapper and picking out a fat blueberry that hadn’t burst during baking. “One doctor said it would just take time. Better nutrition, less stress.”
She put the muffin back down, untouched except for the small hole she’d created stealing out the one berry.
As I nodded, relief washed through me. I tried not to show it, because I didn’t want Nelly to think that I believed her value was wrapped up in mothering. I just fucking hated the thought of her body being pushed to a lasting breaking point.
"Eat the damn muffin, Nelly," Boone said with a gruff tenderness that made her lips quirk up.
She picked it up, rolling it between her hands. “At least seventy carbs. Over four hundred calories. High in sugar and sodium. Low in fiber and protein.”
Levi leaned forward, face going slack, as if Nelly doing the nutritional math on the muffin was foreplay to him. “Thought you didn’t have a head for numbers?”
She pulled off a piece of the muffin’s crumbly top and popped it into her mouth. “In San Francisco, some of the other dancers and I made it a game. We couldn’t buy the item and eat it if we got the info wrong. I had every label in the store memorized by the time I moved back to Tacoma and joined Imperial.”
"Memorizing food labels was a game?" Something about the way she'd said it—like reciting nutritional facts was as naturalas breathing—made my chest tighten. That would warp any person’s relationship with eating.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, picking another piece off the muffin, and pushing it between her lips.
No one said anything for a while, absorbing the revelation that Nelly thought what she was saying was normal.
